


Tropes and Surprises

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cabin Fic, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, kinda crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21615904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hermione just wanted to plan a romantic getaway with her husband... Harry is determined to tease her over all the romantic tropes... until Hermione snaps. Relationship fluff!!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	Tropes and Surprises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MykEsprit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/gifts).

> Happy Christmas, friend!! I hope you enjoy this little bit of Harmony hilarity!  
Alpha and beta thanks to Frumpologist! All remaining errors are my own! 
> 
> I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

* * *

“Hermione…!” A gasp. A hand claps to a cheek. 

“Stop that right now, Harry Potter.” 

“I will  _ not _ . Because we are off for our romantic winter getaway weekend…” 

“Harry…”

“Nestled somewhere in the mountains…”

“ _ Harry… _ ” Really. Does the wizard have no sense of self-preservation?

“Possibility of getting snowed in and all, and—” 

“ _ Harrrrrrryyyyyy…”  _

“OH MY MERLIN! Hermione!” The final bag drops from his shoulder, landing to the floor with an echoing  _ thunk  _ as he rushes to her, grasping her elbows, dipping down so that his eyes are mere inches from hers, asking in all the faux seriousness that only Harry can manage—because,  _ honestly _ , he is worse than Draco sometimes— “D’you think there’ll only be… ONE… BED?!?!” 

That’s it. 

She throws her hands in the air, thinking of how very lovely it would be to reach for her wand within the folds of her coat. And how hilarious it’d be to hang him upside down by one ankle in the air for the duration of the weekend… 

Instead, she finds herself levelling him with the narrowest and coldest of stares; her voice ice. “Have you quite finished?” It’s too much. It’s really all too much and she  _ just can’t  _ with her husband at the moment.

Not that he seems to be getting the message, however, because he bloody  _ winks  _ one of those sparkling emerald-green eyes at her, whispering “not even”, as if winding her up is the highlight of his day, and hang it all, but that does  _ things  _ to her—to her heart, her mind, and her sodding hormones even  _ now _ , after all these years, and in her state of thinking how lovely a kip would be right about now… 

But  _ nope! _

Clearly not happening yet. Her husband wants to tease over their recent discussion of romantic tropes in stories; well, sod romance for the weekend.

Her fingers curl at the top button of her peacoat, her eyes trained on Harry’s as she undoes the first. “I hope you remember in years to come,  _ Potter _ —” The second button, then the third, her lips curling as she keeps her voice steady. “— _ I _ had a plan for this.  _ I  _ planned for the romance and togetherness of all this down the littlest detail, and  _ you _ —” She’s finishes with her coat, and takes hold of her wand before shrugging out of it, tossing it aside as she toes out of her shoes. “— _ You  _ are you, the one that made me go and do this:  _ ACCIO!” _

It’s a simple summoning spell, one that, at first glance, involves little more than pointing and a hand gesture, but Hermione has been practicing. She’s wanted to get all of this  _ just right _ , because occasions like this only happen once in a lifetime, and it’s all Harry’s fault she’s not in the mood for keeping it perfect any longer. 

“OW!”

Everything Hermione’s wrist movement had summoned flies to her, a bottle of sparkling white peach juice colliding with his head, earning a giggle from Hermione as Harry ducks. The assembled spread hovers around them and Hermione takes the time to look everything over, making sure it’s all accounted for. 

“Let’s see here,” she begins, holding her wand to the bottle that’d brought her such glee seconds before. “Sparkling white peach juice, because you don’t like either variety of sparkling grape, and then there are two champagne glasses… Off to the table then…” She sends the items on their way, blinking twice at a now standing Harry before focusing on the next package. “There are the chocolate covered strawberries in here, organic, of course, because you’re still on that kick. And then there are the grapes, cheeses, and crackers… Oh, and here’s that treacle tart from the baker in the flat we love so…” 

She’s back to looking at him, straight at him, as she sends everything to the table in the kitchen. The one she’d already covered with a white linen tablecloth and a large vase of red roses…

Because the occasion seemed to call for it…

“Have I…?” He’s looking from her then turning round to the kitchenette, then back to her, scratching the back of his neck. “Have I forgotten something? An anniversary of… anything?” 

“No. You haven’t.” Her resolve to be irritated melts at the concern and almost hurt in his voice, because Harry’s never been anything more than understanding and thoughtful of  _ all  _ the little things with her—it’s really more than she ever believed possible from a man. “This was all my doing. It was meant to be a surprise.” She closes the gap between them, winding her arms around his trim waist, resting her cheek against his taut chest, loosening a tired chuckle as his arms fold around her. 

“The list you found was to go through several ideas,” she says, eyes welling with treacherous tears, and  _ bloody sodding hormones!  _ “It was close enough to Christmas, I thought we could take a few days off earlier together and have a nice time just the two of us before everyone else became involved in it.” 

“Involved with what, Hermione?” She  _ feels  _ his entire body swallow, his breath catch in his chest. “I didn’t mean to take this so far as to upset you, I just—” 

“Shut it Potter.” She shakes her head back and forth against him, huffing and lifting herself on her toes to plant a kiss to his cheek. “My list of romantic things, which expanded into a list of romantic tropes in films and books, was applied to this special occasion so I could inform you that  _ we  _ are pregnant.”

There’s silence. Absolute silence. She can feel that he’s not even drawing a breath at the moment.

It fuels her to keep going. To get some sort of quintessential Harry Potter response from him once everything’s absorbed through his thick head.

“You’re going to be a father. I’m going to be a mother.  _ We  _ are going to have—” 

She’s cut off as his lips crash into hers, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of her head… or press her mouth closer to his; she’s not entirely sure by this point. 

All that truly matters is that he’s happy. She can tell in the way the kiss evolves from something desperate and devouring to something languid and lazy. Something full of love and savouring. 

She cuts it off before it gets too carried away, though. For now. Because there’s a spread of food, she’s worked up quite an appetite, and regardless if she’s going to throw it all up within a quarter of an hour or not, there’s still part of a plan intact. 

And “divesting each other of clothing” isn’t due to happen for another forty-five minutes, or so… And Harry doesn’t argue or complain. 


End file.
